In the first 10 minutes of the fourth episode of Netflix’s new dramedy “Girlboss,” there is a scene chronicling a group of twenty somethings reacting, in real time, to the season three finale of “The O.C.” as it airs in May 2006.

It’s a full-circle grief process beginning with denial Marissa Cooper’s life is at risk as she is dragged from a burning car by her perennial boyfriend Ryan Atwood, devastation when it becomes apparent she will not survive the episode and even one character’s hope Taylor Townsend will be a series regular next season — an opinion not well received by the room.

A call interrupts this moment for Sophia (“Under the Dome’s” Britt Robertson), a 23-year-old on the cusp of her first real venture in the world of adulting as the founder of a vintage clothes store on eBay — a whiny buyer from which is on the line. As the “The O.C.” fades to black, Sophia laments, “I can’t believe I had a work call during the most significant TV event of our lifetime.” In other words, “Why is life hard?”

As someone who remembers watching this very TV moment on that fateful May night, this scene is surreal.

But for anyone not born in the late 80s or 90s, or generally adverse to teen dramas of the aughts, this scene and everything written before this sentence is likely gibberish — and that’s kind of the point.

As these four twentysomethings in 2006 San Francisco look on with disbelief at the death of a 2000s teen icon, “Girlboss” is in the thick of its latest effort to reinforce the idea this is the story of a millennial meant, almost exclusively, for millennials. This comes meres minutes after an offhanded, completely erroneous comment about the 2006 Matthew McConaughey/Sarah Jessica Parker rom-com “Failure to Launch.” A later episode is framed entirely around the importance of being in someone’s top eight friends on MySpace.

From “Pitch Perfect” writer Kay Cannon, this 13-episode series — seven of which were seen in advance of this review — goes to great, sometimes exhausting lengths to prove its millennial aptitude, but ultimately has conflicted feelings about whether it is criticizing or celebrating the generation (born between the late 80s and early 00s).

Sophia, a character based on real-life Nasty Gal clothing brand founder Sophia Amoruso, is a college dropout wandering through life trying to find her purpose while being generally unpleasant to those around her and disregarding the need to be a grown up. She commits petty theft with a grin and mouths off to her boss, only to be surprised when she is promptly fired. In essence, she is lazy, unmotivated and unwilling to pursue the self-sufficiency she craves. This is a hallmark of the “Millennials are the worst” chorus. They want, want, want, but aren’t willing to do something about it, thinking it should be handed to them.

This is not true for many millennials and “Girlboss” wants to prove it — except when it can’t help but do the opposite.

Sophia ends up pursuing her eBay store as a means of putting her fashion sense and knack for finding treasures in thrift stores into a paying job, working tooth and nail (on occasion) to get it done. The story it seems to want to tell is that of a woman doing it for herself — even if the timing of the show’s premiere is less than ideal. In 2016, Amoruso stepped down from Nasty Gal and the company applied for bankruptcy.

Still, there is still a journey in the eventual downfall and it could be a fascinating one. But despite a strong, scrappy performance by Robertson and the show’s generally interesting look, “Girlboss” never quite breaks free of its own identity crisis, sacrificing intriguing commentary on a woman securing her own destiny in favor of wallowing in the millennial muck.

At times, episodes work tirelessly to teach Sophia a lesson about being an entrepreneur or a good employee or even just a decent human. But she constantly falls back into her ways, making each subsequent episode feel repetitive.

This is not to say there aren’t solid moments along the way.

Robertson really does have a knack for selling the free-wheeling, driven Sophia’s spirit, and her broken side when given the chance. Sophia friendship with BFF Annie (Ellie Reed) is delightful and deeply personal at times, and the show’s itself is well shot.

But it’s strongest when it is less about Sophia’s exploits and more about delving deep into self-sufficiency, and even this world of online entrepreneurship and why she, and others like her, take the risk.

The season’s best episode features a phenomenal guest appearance from the always great Melanie Lynskey as Gail, the self-described matriarch of what is basically an online vintage clothes shop gang, who take issue with Sophia’s habit of cutting of clothes to make them more fashion forward. On a trip from Reno to issue a threat to Sophia, she instead goes out for a eye-opening night on the town with her younger competition.

Gail is looney tunes in a charming way only Lynskey can play her. Dressed in flower-print cardigans, she packs away vintage dresses to save them for future generations — and talks to them in the morning like they are people. But she offers “Girlboss” — the show and Sophia — something substantive.

This episode works not only because it broadens Sophia’s world, but it exposes each woman’s motivations and where their lives intersect — despite being polar opposites.

Gail proves everyone is trying to find their niche, their tribe, their eBay store. For a brief moment, after a night wandering San Francisco haunts, Sophia lets down her guarded, sarcastic walls with Gail as she sees commonalities between them. Together, nestled in a window seat, they are people not defined by a generation but their experiences.

Episode four ends with Sophia basically reenacting “The O.C.” season finale in semi-dramatic fashion on a bridge — just in case the show’s commitment to dating itself wasn’t already apparent. This moment, which again will likely mean nothing to anyone not clued into “The O.C.,” is indicative of the biggest hurdle “Girlboss’” puts in front of itself.

In its desperate pursuit of establishing what it means to be a millennial, it forgets what it means to be an average person.

“Girlboss” premieres Friday, April 21 on Netflix.

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